


His films are awful

by euclids-films (euclidsEfinder)



Series: Fluffy February [1]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M, Movie Night, theyre fucking dumbasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euclidsEfinder/pseuds/euclids-films
Summary: Brown invites Pink round for a movie night
Relationships: Mr. Brown/Mr. Pink (Reservoir Dogs)
Series: Fluffy February [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139915
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	His films are awful

Brown talks way too fucking much, especially through films. So far, it’s been a constant barrage of “the director said that they’d made eight different endings to this!” or “the actors got paid in food instead, because they didn’t have enough to cover their paychecks” or, the less common but still frequent, “I used to jerk off to her all the time when I was sixteen”. Pink’s used to it now, can drown it out until it’s just plain static, but Brown keeps touching him, keeps jostling him with his elbow or brushing his knee against Pink’s. It’s a whole lot harder to ignore someone when they’re constantly on you, warm and jumpy as all fuck.

Brown clicks his fingers and points wildly at the TV, ‘Look! Look man, this is the bit I was telling you about!’ 

The bit in question is just a scene where some weird robot gets launched into space. It’s nothing special at-fucking-all, and Pink struggles to find what Brown thinks is so interesting; it’s no different to what they watched about six hours ago, every episode blending into one monstrosity that follows exactly the same plot pattern to the letter. 

  
  


Brown had briefly mentioned the scene three days ago, over shared lunch with the rest of the gang, and had received a slap upside the back of his head and a snappy “Dude, shut the fuck up” from Eddie. He’d quietened, sure, but he was back at it again in under five minutes, seemingly having forgotten the whole ordeal. Eddie had glanced helplessly at White, who’d been too engrossed lighting up another cigarette for Orange to notice, and then to Pink. Pink had only shrugged, rolled his eyes, and Eddie had kicked his shin under the table.

The offer of a TV marathon had been extended from Brown to everyone in the group, and all had declined, some more respectfully than others. When it came down to being asked, Pink had agreed. Out of pity, he thinks, but also out of some morbid curiosity to see the type of life Brown led; couldn’t be any good, and Pink had his hopes low for the evening.

He arrives forty minutes late to a basement apartment, and Brown, who looks like he’s only just gotten dressed, doesn’t say anything besides a hello and an offer of beer. Pink accepts the drink, and throws himself onto the couch, immediately wincing as he feels the poke of springs against his ass. There’s a blanket stained with only God knows what that’s draped over the back of it, a half-assed attempt at an antimacassar if Pink had to guess, and it half falls onto his shoulders, small crumbs sprinkling down his shirt. 

Pink barely manages to stuff it back up to where it belongs without completely shoving it off the back of the couch, but he stops trying when Brown stuffs the cassette into the player and flops down beside him.

  
  


That’s how things have gone for the past six hours, and Brown hasn't shut the fuck up about directors and props and something related to cum, for some reason Pink doesn’t even want to think about. But Brown’s knee shifts as he shuffles back into the sofa, and now it’s his thigh that’s against Pink’s own, warm and heavy.

Pink doesn’t want to think about how frustratingly comfortable he is with all this, doesn’t wanna think at all, really. So, as nonchalantly as he can, Pink allows his hand to land on Brown’s thigh. Not too high, ‘cause fuck that, but just high enough that he can’t bullshit his way through it when Brown looks at him.

And _boy_ , does Brown look at him. He falters, and his eyes flit back and forth between Pink’s hand and his face, but Pink’s not looking at him, his attention’s on the TV, feigning intensity as he stares at the clunky hunk of a robot get dragged back onto some sort of spaceship or whatever the fuck. Brown shifts, and Pink’s ready to move his hand away, until Brown hooks his foot over Pink’s ankle and tugs him closer. He starts talking again, feigning indifference much like Pink had only moments ago, except now Pink’s the one staring.

Brown’s monologue consists of clumsy metaphors and a fucking shit British accent, but Pink’s too focused on the warmth of his leg against his own to pay any attention. It’s not like Brown seems to really care if Pink listens to him anyway, just goes on about how the director had fucked someone and then dumped her because she wasn’t acting right. Pink’s not even sure if Brown’s still talking about the same fucking show any more, but it doesn’t matter any more, because Pink’s sure he’s about to pass out, the small point of contact from Brown seeming to heat up his whole body, head to toe.

Brown seems to notice this, or, at least, notice that something’s not right, and he wraps a skittish arm round Pink’s shoulders, flashing him a smile Pink could only describe as fucking _terrified_. He looks as though he’s preparing for Pink to deck him, all tense and squinty, as if it wasn’t Pink who’d started all this in the first place.

With the most hesitance he’s ever felt in his entire motherfucking _life_ , Pink rests his head against Brown’s shoulder, and feels his entire frame _fall_ as Brown huffs out a sigh, relieved, Pink assumes, that his nose isn’t broken.

Pink’s always thought cuddling was for chicks, and the few amount of guys he’s been with in the past have solidified that, but Brown’s warm and broad, and while Pink wouldn’t call him strong (he’d probably get fucking decimated by a third-grader), he definitely feels slight muscle through the baggy as fuck Evil Dead t-shirt he’s wearing. Falteringly, Pink feels Brown’s hand card through his hair, shaking so slightly he barely notices at first. In any other situation, Pink would have punched Brown square in the face for even, for one moment, thinking that he’d wanna be treated like some kind of weak bitch that needed comforting, but it feels strangely nice, so he doesn’t do anything other than close his eyes and let Brown’s commentary wash over him.

**Author's Note:**

> The show they were watching was Space: 1999. I actually love it, it's so shit but it's amazing


End file.
